Success Price

The armored truck robbery had been a success, but the tension within the group was palpable. Vincent and his team knew that the consequences wouldn't take long to arrive. They were sitting in the same abandoned warehouse near the docks where they had hidden after the heist, surrounded by money bags that barely fit into the boxes.

Liam, calm as ever, was carefully counting the cash while Vincent watched him. "500 grand in total. We did well, but this won't stay quiet for long," Liam remarked, not lifting his eyes from the bills. "Armored trucks always have more security than we saw."

Maya, who had been instrumental in bypassing the security system and getting the truck driver out without much fuss, was quietly checking her phone. She seemed focused, as if waiting for important news. "The problem wasn't the heist. It was what came after. They saw us run, and the cops are already investigating," she said in her low, calm voice.

Jared stood up, clearly worried. "We messed with something big. The cops aren't going to let a half-million-dollar robbery slide. If we keep this up, sooner or later they're going to catch us."

Vincent, who had been deep in thought, gritted his teeth. He knew things wouldn't be as easy as just disappearing after the heist. The plan had been executed perfectly, but the shootout with the police during the escape had complicated everything. In fact, one of the cops had fallen by his hand—a clean shot to the head, a memory that still echoed in his mind.

"Listen, Jared," Vincent said, raising his voice, "we knew what we were getting into from the start. There's no turning back. We can't stop now."

At that moment, Nina, who had been working on her laptop, interrupted. "I've already checked the police reports. They have witnesses who saw us leave the area. Some details are vague, but we're on their radar."

Vincent cursed under his breath. "And what else? Security cameras? Did anyone identify us?"

Nina shook her head. "They didn't get us clearly on camera. We wore masks the entire time, but the descriptions match our profiles. We don't have much time before they start digging deeper."

The tension in the room rose as the sound of a car approaching suddenly broke the silence. A luxurious black sedan stopped in front of the warehouse, and out stepped Franco DeLuca, a little crime boss in the city. With two bodyguards closely following him, Franco calmly walked toward the group.

"Vincent," Franco said with a forced smile as he inspected the warehouse. "I heard you've gotten into the armored truck business. Half a million, right?"

Vincent crossed his arms, not exactly welcoming him. "What do you want, Franco?"

Franco smiled and walked over to one of the boxes filled with money. "It's not about what I want; it's about what you're going to do. You know nothing happens in this city without me knowing. If you plan on operating here, you're going to have to start sharing."

Vincent looked at him, clearly irritated by Franco's interference but knowing he couldn't just ignore him. "I don't work for anyone, Franco. If you want something from me, you'll have to earn it."

Franco chuckled but his tone turned more serious. "Listen, kid. I didn't come here to negotiate. I came to tell you how things work. I want half of that money and a cut of your next jobs. If not, I'll make your life a lot harder."

Liam, sensing the tension, stepped closer to Vincent, ready to intervene if the situation escalated, but Vincent stopped him with a gesture. "Give me until tomorrow to think it over. Don't push me, Franco."

Franco stared at Vincent for a moment, sizing him up. Then he smiled and started backing away. "You have until tomorrow. But remember, it's not wise to make me wait."

As Franco and his men left the warehouse, the group was left in silence. The clock was ticking, and Vincent knew that every second counted. With the police on their heels and other criminals claiming their share, the margin for error was shrinking fast.

Liam was the first to break the silence. "What are we going to do?"

Vincent glanced at the money, then at his team. He knew they couldn't trust anyone else—only themselves. "We'll get through this. But first, we need to move this money as quickly as possible. Tomorrow's another day."

It was just after 4 AM when Vincent finally made it home. He slipped in quietly, trying not to make any noise, but as soon as he closed the door, he heard his mother's voice from the living room.

"Vincent, where have you been?" Her tone was cold, full of reproach. The light from the lamp revealed her tired and worried expression, arms crossed and eyes fixed on her son.

Vincent tried to smile, masking his nervousness. "I went for a walk. I couldn't sleep, needed to clear my head."

His mother eyed him skeptically. "Do you really expect me to believe that? You promised me you'd stay home tonight. You said we'd spend time together, but once again, you disappeared. And now, you're bringing more and more money into this house. Where is it coming from?"

Vincent felt a knot tighten in his stomach. He couldn't tell her the truth—he couldn't drag her into his criminal life. "It's just work, Mom. Nothing weird, I swear. I'm making some business deals, but you don't need to worry. Everything's under control."

His mother shook her head, clearly frustrated. "You always say that, Vincent, but nothing seems under control. Every day you seem more distant. I don't know what you're getting involved in, but I don't like it."

Vincent sighed, trying to find a way to calm the situation. "I'm sorry, Mom. I promise I'll stay home tomorrow. I won't go anywhere."

She looked at him for a few seconds, saying nothing, as if debating whether to trust him once more. Finally, she sighed. "You better, Vincent. I don't want to see you become like your father, and you are starting to look like him."

Vincent nodded, the weight of his choices pressing down on him as he headed to his room. He knew the path he was on would only drive him further away from his family, he had lied to her again, but at that moment, he didn't see another option. As he got ready for bed, his mind couldn't stop replaying the meeting with Franco, thinking how get rid of him, he would not let anyone stop his path.